


If Molko Had a Cunt It Would Feel Like This

by evilmaniclaugh



Series: The Molko Diaries [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day AU set in London around 2004 where Porthos and Aramis are 20 and Athos is 23. </p><p>Part three of the learning curve of modern day, sexually repressed, drunk!Athos with guyliner. In this short episode, Athos won't come when he's called and a poster boy gets some action. There is a hint of gender fluidity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Molko Had a Cunt It Would Feel Like This

Porthos doesn't see Athos again for weeks. When he finally hears sounds from upstairs, he starts whistling loudly in the mornings and making three cups of coffee rather than two, but it doesn’t achieve the desired result. Even the smell of crisped up bacon fails to lure Athos inside.

"He's found someone new," he says to Aramis. "He must have done."

"Then whoever it is isn't doing his washing for him," grins Aramis. "When I walked past that launderette on Hogarth Road yesterday, he was in there, stark naked, reading a newspaper."

"Was it empty?" asks Porthos.

"Surprisingly no," says Aramis. "I assume the other customers must be used to him."

Porthos is worried. Athos sounds less right than usual, and that's saying something. "I'm going up there," he says.

Aramis raises his eyebrows. "No one goes up there. Ever."

"Well, I'm going to," says Porthos. "He may be in need of his bucket."

If you're going to visit him then I am too," says Aramis pointedly, to which Porthos is slightly relieved. 

For the first four months they lived here, they were convinced their upstairs neighbour must be a vampire, and Porthos, secretly, is far from convinced that they were wrong.

"Who sits in a launderette naked, for fuck's sake?" he whispers as they sneak up the stairs on tip toe.

"Athos does," whispers Aramis. "D'you think we ought to offer to do his washing for him?"

Porthos nods. He'd already made up his mind on that score.

The door at the top of the stairs is open and Porthos glances at Aramis. Should they knock? Should they breeze in with the familiarity of lovers?

They make a silent decision to peer nervously around the door, where they discover that Athos isn't naked or dead and, miraculously, he doesn't appear to be drunk. No, Athos is standing barefoot in the middle of the room, staring transfixed at the wall in front of him.

They watch mesmerised for a while, trying to comprehend what's happening, but then Athos looks around at them and smiles.

"Come in, gentlemen."

Porthos has the murmurings of an erection at those words. He's not sure if it's the _gentlemen_ or the _come_ that does it for him.

"Isn't he beautiful?"

Standing at Athos' side, Porthos finds himself looking at an outsize poster of a fragile looking man with a pixie cut, who's staring bashfully down at his feet. The background of the picture is stark white and the image stands out vivid against the midnight painted wall. "You'd fuck him?"

"I'd fuck this," says Athos, still transfixed.

Aramis rests his chin on Athos' shoulder. "That would get really messy."

Athos turns to him and smirks. "And that's why I don't."

Their mouths are so close. They look so pretty together and Porthos would give anything to see them kiss.

"You should frame it," says Aramis. "Then you could wank over him as much as you like."

"I'd never get out of here, if that were the case."

"You haven't been out of here in weeks," growls Porthos, stepping in closer to flank his other side.

Athos blushes crimson, and Porthos presses a quick kiss to that hot cheek. "Should've told us," he murmurs. "We'd've come to watch." 

Is that why the door was open? Did Athos leave the door open for them?

"Inside my head, he has a cunt and a cock." 

No one should say this and then fall silent. Athos does exactly that. 

To distract himself from the call of a raging hard on, Porthos looks around the room. It would be Spartan in here, with its blue-black walls and white painted floor, but the massive rococo style bed transforms it into shabby opulence. Other than that, there's nothing in here but a TV, the oddly shaped door to a built in cupboard and a wrought iron spiral staircase. "You don't have much stuff," he says conversationally.

"I have what I need." Athos is still staring at Molko.

Aramis moulds himself to Athos' back then reaches around to unfasten his shirt a stealthy button at a time. His tongue darts out to trace a path around Athos' ear. "You're dressed exactly like him," he says. "Do you want to be him, or do him?"

"Both, I think," says Athos in a thickening undertone. 

Porthos helps him off with his shirt and hooks a thumb into the waistband of those sinfully low ride jeans. "He doesn't need a cunt for you to fuck him," he says, breathing in deep. Beneath the wine, Athos smells of expensive aftershave, sex and silver. "You can fuck his arse."

"I want to feel my cock in his cunt," says Athos, strangely petulant and all of a sudden irritable. 

Porthos strokes his belly and nuzzles his neck in an attempt to pet him out of his mood, but Aramis goes one further, circling Athos and then dropping to his knees in front of him.

Unfastening the zipper, Porthos is excited to find Athos naked beneath his jeans. Naked, hard and sticky with long time arousal. "There's a boy," he murmurs. "Let us look after you." He peels them down carefully.

"Imagine," says Aramis, leaning forward inch by inch. "This is Molko's cunt." He houses Athos' cock in his mouth, his lips a tight O.

"Do him, babe," Porthos growls. "Do that pretty boy cunt." He reaches around to hold Aramis in place, barging into Athos from behind, dry humping his arse to help move things along. This is hardly dirty, nothing more than a blow in actual fact, so why does it feel like utter filth, despicable and delicious? "Fuck your load into him," he groans, fingertips biting at Athos' bare hip.

Athos throws his head back when he comes, and Porthos gets his first taste of that mouth as their lips connect for a second. It’s almost a kiss, he thinks and he increases the pressure.

Athos jerks back to a safe distance, sidling away from both men and dragging at his clothing until he’s closer to decent than indecent. Still decadent though. 

Aramis bounces to his feet. He looks at Porthos and then at the door, and they both know what’s going to happen as soon as they get downstairs. Porthos grins in anticipatory delight.

Apparently, all three of them know what’s going to happen. "You don’t have to slope off, you know," says Athos with a quirk of his eyebrow. "Stay here and fuck. I'd like that, actually."

No more encouragement is needed and they scrabble to undress each other. Clothes come off in a shower of need, and Aramis bites into every inch of exposed skin then worries at Porthos’ nipple, suckling loud and long for Athos’ psychologically warped benefit. 

Porthos tips Aramis’ head upwards with a finger to the chin. He licks the taste of come from his mouth, delving in deep for more of Athos, and as he pushes Aramis back onto the bed, a condom appears in his hand. Too worked up to care where that, or the lube, came from, Porthos preps and then screws Aramis, with Athos curled sleepy around them.

Eyes and mouth locked onto Aramis, Porthos fucks into him with an undulating twist of the hips, reaching out sideways to stroke a finger up Athos’ spine. He feels the shiver of a response and hears the low rumble of pleasure. His senses are shared equally between both men, and everything in their strange little world slots into place.


End file.
